


It Was Ice Cream Headaches

by alexenglish



Series: Tumblr Fic [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I defended you when Peppermint girl said your poses were factory,” Stiles says. “She was insulting your craft, Lydia. You should be eternally grateful. You should buy me pizza.” </p><p>“I can’t even eat pizza!” she growls at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Ice Cream Headaches

**Author's Note:**

> Stydia brotp + "And to think there was a time where I actually thought you were cool."

There’s a flurry of anxious rustling in the living room. It either means Mister Muffin is trying to destroy the curtains again (they are The Enemy) or Lydia is preparing for a date and leaving her rejected clothes all over their furniture. When Stiles comes out, the couch has become the landing dock for anything she doesn’t want to wear. All of her favorites are stacked on the arm. Stiles carefully draws out a grey and pink dress with thick straps, the one he knows has pockets, and grabs a pair of strappy, grey heels that match. 

“Date?” Stiles calls out into the house. There’s no sign of Lydia except for the occasional banging and huffing. She probably didn’t even hear him. When he goes into her room, there are more piles of clothes and she’s standing in front of her closet with a murderous look on her face in only her underwear. 

“Date?” Stiles asks, again. Her head jerks as she turns to look at him, exhaling loudly in annoyance.

“What do you think, Stilinski? I can’t believe I have so many clothes and nothing to wear.” 

“80% of your possessions are clothes, Lydia. You have to have something to wear.” Instead of waiting for her to have an epiphany, he tosses the dress at her head. She stills and drags it off, regarding it with a cool expression. 

“I can do this,” she says, pulling it on and tugging it down gracefully. The dress has only a dash of coral, so it doesn’t clash with her hair. He holds the shoes out to her and she smiles at him winningly. 

“It’s good to see the time in the studio has paid off at least a little bit.” She sits so she can fasten the straps while he picks out a pink gloss for her lips. 

“Yet, they still won’t let me pick outfits for the shoots,” Stiles says morosely, handing her lipgloss. She stares at it with disdain, lips almost showing her teeth. Frankly, it’s an overreaction. 

“You know I’m an adult, right? I’m not wearing _lipgloss_ on a date.”

“First date, right? With the ugly dude from last week’s shoot?”

“I can’t believe you just called Jason _ugly_ ,” she says, mouth pinching at the corners. Stiles beams at her. “He’s a model! Yes, first date.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess, I didn’t realize that I had to have the same taste in men as you,” Stiles laughs, presenting her with the lipgloss more forcefully. “Some people are intimidated by lipstick, they don’t want to kiss off your makeup. This way, you can make out at least.”

“What if we just end up going back to his house?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “If he’s DTF, he’s really not going to care about my lipstick.” Damnit, she has a point. Stiles wiggles the lipgloss at her enticingly while she glares. They could probably have this stand off all day, to be honest. They’re both stubborn assholes. 

“Fine,” Stiles says, giving up and flinging the tube back down onto the top of her dresser while she smirks victoriously. “If you don’t get lip action, I’m gloating for a week.”

“Please,” she says, Valley Girl inflection and everything -- _puh_ -lease. “You saw the stills. The sexual tension was at least an eleven.”

“I shot the damn thing,” Stiles says, getting a vivid flashback of last week. Lydia and Jason barely clothed, Stiles trying to get an angle that didn’t show how much they were groping each other. It was traumatizing. “I was afraid I was going to have to unstick you two by the end of it. You’re so damn handsy.” 

“I don’t like to ignore natural chemistry,” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder with an air of superiority. Stiles rolls his eyes at her. 

“Have fun, use a condom,” he says, standing to leave. Her face immediately dissolves into a pout. She probably wanted him to wait until she was done so that he could compliment her on how she looks. To be fair, they kind of have a system. If either of them go on dates, they regale each other with compliments just in case the date goes bad. Mutual support system. “Sorry, I have to finish the edits before 5AM or I’ll probably get fired.” 

“Nonsense,” Lydia says, sharply. “If they fire you, I’ll leave. We’ll get picked up by _Vogue_ or something and then they’ll be sorry.”

 

Lydia [10:34PM]

_I don’t think I’m getting laid._

Lydia [10:34PM]

_Oh my god, I think he had a speech prepared!_

[10:36PM]

_????_

Lydia [10:45PM]

_He respects me too much to have sex with me? IT’S MY CHOICE._

Lydia [10:48PM]

_I give up. This is the last straw._

[10:50PM]

_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

Lydia [10:52]

_I hate you Stilinski_

 

 

“Tell me again,” Stiles says, trying to catch his breath. There’s a stitch in his side from laughing so hard. Lydia had come home in a quiet fury that burst the second she got through the door. Adorable yet intimidating, as always. 

“He said I was respectable,” she says, flinging her arms out. She scrubs at her face. “Why can’t I be respectable and get laid at the same time?” 

“You don’t need someone with such archaic views about sex, anyway,” he tells her, thrusting a bag of chips into her hand. She clenches them to her chest, eyes wide. 

“Are these full fat? I need fat after that kind of rejection.”

“Guaranteed to make you gain at least two pounds,” he grins. Lydia nods in approval and takes the bag back with her when she changes clothes. It crinkles as she opens it. Stiles can imagine her eating between changing into pajamas and cleaning her face. When she comes out, she has one hand arm-deep in the bag, silky hair pulled up on a sloppy bun. 

“It was the lipgloss,” she says, it would be a snarl if she wasn’t so dejected. “Lipgloss is so schoolgirl. Lipstick on the other hand, means ‘take me, I’m yours’! Last time I listen to you, you good-for-nothing, poor-excuse for a modern artist.”

Stiles gasps melodramatically, faux-wounded.

“Lipgloss is sophisticated, it’s making a comeback!” he says, making a mental note to make sure the makeup artists only use lipgloss for his next handful of shoots so he can fuck with Lydia. The intense stare he’s getting from her suggests she knows _exactly_ what he’s thinking and will try to smother him in his sleep for thinking it. He’s still going to do it. 

“Drop the lipgloss,” she says, waving it away with salt and greasy covered fingers. Stiles shrugs, considering it waved. “Scandal?”

“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah.”

 

Pretty much every other model in existence is intimidated by Lydia Martin. Stiles gets it, he really does. She’s the shortest employee that the agency has ever employed as a regular contract model,she makes almost double what other models make for the same kind of shoots, and she built her career in three years with no help from anyone higher on the food chain than her. 

Stiles wasn’t sure of her when he first met her. He was confused by her height, but once he saw her through the lense he was sold. The way she modelled was enchanting. She took direction better than anyone he had worked with up until that point. She never made herself approachable to outsiders, but Stiles was determined to make the effort to get to know her. Not many people do, which he gets, sort of. It’s not hard to be intimidated by Lydia. The command she has on set is undeniable. 

She barks out orders to keep shoots running smooth, quick, and flawless. When there’s a wardrobe change, her makeup never gets messed up. Somehow, she’s perfected a gorgeous resting face so that even when they’re doing behind the scenes or candids, she looks like a goddess. No matter the amount of discord between the models pre-shoot, whether through competition or dislike, when she’s on set the models act like perfect angels. She’s a _boss_. Which means that off set, the models can’t stop talking shit about her. 

Most models that come in on shoots aren’t contracted and don’t know that Stiles is close to Lydia, so he just trolls the fuck out of them while they’re making their coffee. 

“Can you believe how she just takes control like that?” one of them says. They’re doing a Candyland shoot, so there’s a giant lollipop in her hair. Sometimes, Stiles can’t take models seriously when they’re all done up like ice cream cones. “Like she’s the creative director or something. I mean, really --”

The model pauses and watches him walk up. He slips the K-cup in the Keurig, leaning on the table while he waits for it. 

“It’s cool,” he says, trying to be nonchalant. Behind her, he can see Lydia getting her hair blown out so it resembles cotton candy. He hitches his eyebrows up, gesturing at her with his chin. “She does that every time, don’t let it get to you. I just wish she would shut up on set.” 

The models titter and immediately start in on Lydia, taking that as permission. Not that he wants to stir up shit, it’s just interesting to see what they all say. Usually their criticisms are inconsequential. If there was something she could improve on, he would tell her. 

“If her voice wasn’t so nasally, maybe it would be okay,” one says, rolling her eyes, sprinkles clinging to her cheekbones and collar. See? As if the pitch of her voice matters, she’s a _model_. 

“Can you believe how short she is?” another says, lips coated in thick teal and curled back in disdain. “She has to have five inch heels reach my tits.” The girls laugh. 

“Please, don’t get me started on her factory poses, totally stiff,” says the last girl with peppermint painted skin. Stiles always sees models through his lense, beautiful and capable of art, but when some of them talk --

“Too bad she’s the best model on this shoot, am I right?” Stiles asks, his tone is light, but he’s in defense mode. Lydia shielding activate. Not that she needs him to take care of her. Besides, he encouraged them. It’s only partially their fault that they pissed him off. All the models look at him, surprised. “I would watch what she does. There’s a reason she’s the highest paid model at this agency.”

He leaves them with a wink.

“The models were awfully nice at the shoot,” Lydia says, conversationally, after the rest of the models have cleared out. It’s been a long day, despite the way the shoot went flawlessly. Stiles smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything. “It’s weird, because I’ve worked with Stephanie before -- the one with the giant lollipop stuck in her wig -- and I know she hates me. She would probably tear my heart out of my chest with her bare hands if she could.”

“That’s aggressive,” Stiles says, trying to sound bored. Lydia knows, Stiles knows that she knows.

“You provoked them into talking shit, didn’t you?”

“No, I just said not to worry about my presence,” he says. “Oh wait, I did say you were too loud on set.” Lydia gasps and swats at his hip. 

“ _I’m_ loud? _I’m loud_? Mister louder-than-necessary, _yelling_ out direction like it’s not a ten-by-ten room? Oh my god, you’re dead to me Stilinski.”

“I defended you when Peppermint girl said your poses were _factory_ ,” he says, dancing away laughing. “She was insulting your _craft_ , Lydia. You should be eternally grateful. You should _buy me pizza_.” Lydia screeches and throws a piece of mail at his head. 

“I can’t even eat pizza!” she growls at him. Stiles can see the corners of her mouth fighting around a smile, but her face is still pretending to be angry. “I have four shoots this week. If I have to subside on cottage cheese and kale, so do you Stilinski.” 

“Not likely,” Stiles snorts, snatching up his keys. He grabs his bag and wiggles his fingers at her. There’s no way he’s going to torture her with cheese and tomato goodness when she can’t eat it, he’s not _that much_ of an asshole. “I’m going to Scott’s.”

Lydia’s face dissolves into a full-on pout, similar to the Date Night Pout, but far more wounded. Lydia has strong feelings about carbs. 

“Dead. To. Me. Stilinski.” 

 

 

The rest of the week is crammed with shoots and editing and not sleeping very much at all. The agency keeps pushing for someone else to edit the photos, but Stiles likes the way he does them. It doubles up his workload, but he has a _vision_. The Candyland shoot is so large that they pull someone in to help, much to Stiles’ chagrin, but it means he gets it done by the deadline. 

Lydia only has one more shoot with Stiles, a solo for a smaller, future issue. The other two are with Isaac, a new photographer who keeps his shutter speed too low for Stiles’ liking. The shoots aren’t bad, when he sneaks a look at them, they just don’t capture the _essence_ of Lydia. Stiles knows it’s pretentious to compare works, he’s known Lydia for so long that he can get all her angles in half the time. Their shoots are always right on track, usually they finish early. 

“We are totally the dream team. The dreamiest team.” Stiles says, as they end a shoot. Lydia smirks at him and comes to look at the stills, even though she’s not supposed to. Stiles knows its so she can critique herself and try to get better for the next shoot. There’s only a few that piss her off, the angle of her chin or whatever. The rest are perfect, it’ll be hard to pick between them. Not that Lydia thinks so, he can tell by the pinched look around her mouth. 

“I look like a skeleton,” she says, pointing to one where she’s stretched out, stomach in and ribs out. Considering the theme is “enchanted reaper” (don’t ask him, he doesn’t pitch the shoots), he thinks she nailed it.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the point,” he says, peeling her away from the camera. The longer he lets her stick her nose in the viewfinder, the more she’ll hate everything about the photoshoot. “Dude, weekend.”

“Pizza!” Lydia exclaims, throwing herself onto his back and smearing white body paint all over his hoodie. 

“Oh god, gross, hit the showers, chick,” he says, trying to shove her away. She laughs right in his ear and twirls off, stripping the black translucent fabric that was draped around her as she goes. If Stiles wasn’t a photographer, he would be concerned by the ease she has with nudity. Every model’s nature state is mostly-nude, it’s a lifestyle. 

Stiles calls the pizza in while she’s changing so that they can meet it at the apartment. Large meat lover’s with extra sauce. He’s tempted to throw some vegetables on it just to piss Lydia off, but considering the busy week, he decides not to be a dick.

“Meat lovers?” Lydia asks as she comes back, dressed to the nines in sweatpants and a loose shirt is actually _his_. What the hell.

“I’ve been looking for that shirt everywhere!”

“Meat lovers?” she asks, again, smirking at him. “Extra sauce, no vegetable abominations? Deep dish? All the bread and cheese I could possible ever want?”

“Yes, you animal, geez,” he says, grabbing his bag. 

“You’re my favorite,” she sing-songs, skipping out the door ahead of him. 

Pizza is a ritual for Lydia Martin. If only the other models could see her now, stripped down to boyshorts, still in Stiles’ t-shirt. The first thing she does is get comfortable: no pants, hair pulled up in a bun. Then, she finds something on TV. She won’t even let him open the pizza box before it’s decided. She doesn’t bother with plates, just squishes herself up to Stiles’ side and digs in, slice after slice until she’s obliterated half the pizza. 

It’s a messy affair, sauce and cheese everywhere. Stiles watches with a mix of horror and amazement as she catches a slipping dollop of marinara that slides off the slice _on her tongue_ , out of midair. She has better reflexes than he does when it comes to food. 

"And to think there was a time where I actually thought you were cool,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose at her. Lydia bursts out laughing, leaning into him hard as she snorts. 

“You were so disillusioned,” she says, pawing at the box. Stiles’ last piece is sitting there innocently. 

“Whoa, _my_ pizza, _mine_!” he says, batting her hands away. She turns her big eyes towards him, looking contrite.

“Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock you for it,” she says, dangerous glint in her eye, hand posed in a fist. Stiles holds his hands up, one flat and the other in a fist, bracing himself. 

“Fine, you fucking nerd, but I swear --”

“Rock, paper, scissorslizaRDSPOCK -- HA!”

“Best two out of three!”

**Author's Note:**

> [come to my Tumblr lair](http://aleksanderenglish.tumblr.com/)


End file.
